


Ciao Amore

by LSPrincess



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Slash, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Smoking, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25461793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSPrincess/pseuds/LSPrincess
Summary: With a dramatic sigh, Ed extended an open hand. “Fine,” he grouched, tapping his socked foot against the brick. “I’ll try it.”Oswald smiled again, a lazy curl of his lips, and chuckled pleasantly somewhere deep in his chest. “Very good."-Ed has misgivings about Oswald's new habit.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	Ciao Amore

**Author's Note:**

> Something small that I wrote spontaneously while I work on something...less small.

“Smoking is bad for you.”

It might’ve been the fourth time he’d said that, if Oswald had been counting.

“In theory,” Oswald rebutted, scratching a flake of paint off the railing of the balcony. “It seems to do quite a bit of good for me if we’re being honest.” He took another draw, deeper and longer so as to spite his guest, and blew the smoke toward the sky. In thick plumes, it could cover the stars like a veil — narrow one’s perception of reality. Ground in the here and now. It made it simpler.

“In theory,” Ed scoffed, pushing off from where he was lounging against the door frame and slumping next to Oswald on the rail. “Do you have such disdain for your own well-being that you resort to _active_ self-destruction?”

“Slander,” Oswald hissed, tapping the butt of the cigarette to shed its excess ash. It fell to the garden below them like Hellish precipitation, gritty and warm. He wondered if the flowers could feel it — moreover, if they liked it. “Explain yourself.”

“You drink like a fish and have taken up smoking.”

“Intermittent smoking,” Oswald corrected, each word trailed by a wisp of stale gray. “It’s an occasional pastime.”

“Enough nicotine negates any concept of ‘occasional,’” Ed supplied, eyeing the smoke bitterly as if he could usher it away with enough pointed contempt.

“It keeps me warm.”

“As does a coat. And physical contact.”

“On the _inside.”_

“As does bourbon. I’d assume,” Ed added gently, shrugging to accentuate his inexperience. It was a pointless addition — Oswald knew of his aversion to liquors, the smell and taste and overall _existence_ of them. He’d been very adamant in expressing his distaste when Oswald had spent one night drinking; he’d still smelled of alcohol the next morning, and against all threats of unemployment and signs of imminent tantrums, Ed had forced him into _another_ shower and the minty aid of Listerine. He’d said it wasn’t professional for the mayor to smell like a sailor.

He’d said it was _unattractive._

“You’d _assume,”_ Oswald echoed with a chuckle, a thick gust of smoke, flicking the cigarette again. It was little more than a stub at this point. “I think there’s a decanter on the chiffonier. You can have some if you’d like.”

“You know I don’t.”

“Ah.” Oswald smiled, wide and toothy — animalistic but genuine in his amusement. “I know you’d _rather_ not. But I also know you’re curious. Just a taste won’t harm you, Ed.”

“Famous last words,” Ed said flatly, and even with four inches between them (if Oswald had been counting), Oswald could feel the tension in his shoulders. He was all but vibrating with it, an electrifying struggle with his own prejudiced misgivings.

It was distracting. It was troublesome. It was complicated.

Oswald didn’t want it.

“Have you ever smoked before?” he asked offhand, drawing as deep of a breath as his lungs could take so he could cover the sky with one exhale. It made it simpler.

Ed almost laughed, loud and unrestrained and borderline maniacal. He _almost_ laughed if he hadn’t choked it back, reigned it into an incredulous titter.

“Of course not,” he huffed dismissively. Even without the cigarette, his words heralded plumes, billows of condensation. Oswald hadn’t realized how cold it was. “My father would have had my hide if I’d taken one from him. By the time I left…I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

“But you’re curious,” Oswald guessed, and guessed luckily. Resting his temple on the heel of his left hand, he caught the way Ed’s eyes flickered to the side to meet his gaze. He caught it, and held it, and coaxed Ed’s body to follow until he was turned towards Oswald fully.

“Curiosity is the motherboard of my supercomputer,” he said, tapping his head, and Oswald _almost_ laughed, reigned into a graceless snort. “Would you let me try it?”

“Do you want to?” Oswald checked, shifting so that he could hold the cigarette in clear view, dangling loosely between two of his fingers.

Ed crossed his arms, taut and prejudiced again, and chewed the inside of his lip until he settled on a question.

“Will it burn?”

“Not too bad.”

“How do I do it?”

“Just inhale and exhale. Hold it, if you want.”

“That’s it?” His eyebrow quirked over disbelieving eyes, his arms falling to his sides. It was a display of vulnerability, albeit subtle, and Oswald wanted to _lap it up._

Instead, he said, “If it was rocket science, people wouldn’t do it so often.”

Ed wasn’t sold on the matter, but he was more yielding than he had been a minute ago. To Oswald, disheveled and draped in a robe in the frigid air of midnight, it was a monumental win. Generally, such a feat took poise and elegance, an impressive facade, and the sickly-sweet words of distractions as his fingers worked behind the curtains, peeling back layers of one’s psyche.

Whether deliberate or not, Ed had drawn the curtains back and laid his own mind bare.

It was reckless, Oswald might have said, but he knew Ed too well to think so foolishly.

With a dramatic sigh, Ed extended an open hand. “Fine,” he grouched, tapping his socked foot against the brick. “I’ll try it.”

Oswald smiled again, a lazy curl of his lips, and chuckled pleasantly somewhere deep in his chest. “Very good,” he praised, pushing himself up and out of his relaxed slouch and into a stiff, straight-backed stance. “And just like I said: inhale, hold, exhale.”

Ed nodded heavily and beckoned restlessly with his proffered hand. And, for Ed’s sake, Oswald did consider it: careful, calculating eyes crawling along the curve of his palm, the stretch of his fingers, the little impatient tremor in his thumb. Considered, but discarded in favor of taking another draw, cupping Ed by the nape of his neck, and guiding their lips together.

It was a bit of a hassle to form a tight enough seal before he exhaled, but they managed nevertheless, with no slips other than Ed’s initial confusion and shock. He’d wanted to cough, Oswald could tell — cough and maybe push him away — but had relaxed into it faster than Oswald could entertain the thought of retreating.

He did cough, however, when they broke apart, exhaling shakily and staring wide-eyed at Oswald’s smug smile. There was an accusation somewhere in that gaze, and Oswald _almost_ laughed. He might’ve, had he not been marvelling at the light reflecting off Ed’s dilated pupils.

“What do you think?” Oswald asked once he was sure Ed’s breathing was steady again. He brought the cigarette back between them, turning it this way and that with even indifference.

“That’s not nicotine,” was the only thing Ed said, fingers ghosting over his lips in reverence.

Oswald did laugh that time.

“I never said it was. There’s a decanter on the chiffonier.” Taking Ed’s hand into his, he tucked the remaining stub between two of his fingers. _“Ciao, Amore.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever heard _Salvatore_ by Lana Del Rey? I passed out on impact. [This](https://youtu.be/vcJxo3WDQS8) amazing version by the equally amazing riddlebirb has a tendency to liquefy my spine and inspire this fic. It was very short and sweet, but I had the vibes in my head and wanted to do...something. I hope you liked it!


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